


The Mage Underground

by ruthmakesstuff (orphan_account)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, bipolar!Anders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4521837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ruthmakesstuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders plans a massive coup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mage Underground

“Does he seem a little… off, to you?” Varric asked Hawke, discreetly. He couldn’t be entirely quiet, given the height difference between himself and the woman, but thankfully Anders was out of earshot regardless.

They both looked over at him, who was humming as he rifled for loot through the bodies of the bandits they’d just killed. There’d been a skip in his step lately, and in the fight with the bandits it looked like he’d been experimenting with new kinds of magic – elements had always been something he had a good control over, but the tempest he summoned was a first. The wind threw the bandits up into the air and left the lot of them on the ground upon impact, giving the Kirkwallers the advantage.

“I mean, he’s happy?” Hawke said. “Is that really a cause for concern?” She was pretending that she hadn’t noticed the changes in him, but it was mostly denial. She didn’t feel it was right to be _worried_ about someone just for being in a good mood, but this was uncharacteristic of Anders, and it made her worry that he was hiding something, like that he’d suddenly had his Calling and was making the most of borrowed time.

“Hawke,” Varric said seriously, “he’s _humming_.”

“Five gold sovereigns!” Anders suddenly cried, walking over, unaware of their conversation. “I haven’t held this much money in a _long_ time. I could buy a new gold earring.” Anders’s concept of money was still a little off – despite a good few years of freedom it still came unnaturally to him. He’d gone from Darktown poverty to the Hawke estate, from no money to an excess of it.

“You wear earrings? This is news to me,” Hawke said, surprised.

“You mean you _don’t_ examine my anatomy for piercing holes?” Anders said, in mock shock.

“That’s not usually what my attention is focused on when presented with your… anatomy,” Hawke said, thinking back to the previous night. Anders had been an especially enthusiastic lover – louder, and more responsive to touch, and more keen to pleasure her. Not that he was ever unenthusiastic about pleasuring her, but he seemed put out when she’d had to stop him due to her own sensitivities.

“Naughty girl. I gave my old earring to the Warden Commander, to remember me by, so I didn’t have it when you and I met.” Anders said.

“Old-fashioned courting,” Isabela pitched in, “how sweet.”

“We didn’t court – sadly. The things I would have done with that woman though, I tell you,” Anders said, grinning. “Much like the things I did with you, Isabela. Remember the electricity trick?” Were she a shyer woman, Isabela would have blushed at the memory, but she’d heard far dirtier things in her time – even from Anders, back in their day.

“Is now really the time?” Hawke asked, tapping one foot irately on the floor. “Or, really, ever?” She wasn’t unaware of the past between Anders and Isabela, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be reminded of it. Especially as it took her away from the fond memories she’d been having until that point.

“Don’t make our good friend jealous,” Isabela said, smiling.

“Hawke, love, you know you’re the woman for me,” Anders said, planting a kiss on her neck. The public display of affection left her embarrassed, and she swatted him away.

“Can we just get away from this pile of dead bandits?” She asked. “The smell is beginning to get to me.”

 

* * *

 

Hawke and Anders were cuddling in bed that night when he abruptly got up and out of bed.

“Is something wrong, love?” she asked, concerned.

“I need something to _do_ ,” Anders said, pacing around the room, picking objects up off the mantelpieces and windowsills and putting them down in different places. The Hawke estate was full of knick-knacks that Leandra had accumulated since moving to Kirkwall. An attempt to make the mansion more homely, he presumed. In any case, they were a great thing to fiddle with at times like this.

“Have you not _done_ enough this evening? I’m tired, and I put in far less physical effort than you did,” she said, referencing the time they’d just spent together. He knew that his performance had been more exuberant than usual – it was already the early hours of the morning, and they hadn’t gone to bed particularly late. Hawke did look tired, too.

“No, I’m just – I’ve got energy to spare. I’m going to go to the study and write some more copies of the manifesto, I think,” he said.

He left the room, leaving a confused Hawke in bed alone.

There was something he was _missing_ , he knew it, he thought as he scribbled illegible copies of his manifesto. He thought of his work with the mage underground. There lay the secret, he was sure.

For years now, they’d been smuggling mages out of the gallows, finding them refuge among Kirkwall or putting them on boats to elsewhere in the Free Marches. The life of an apostate wasn’t an easy one, he knew, but it was far better than the thinly veiled slavery suffered by the mages inside the circles.

Maybe now they needed to do something bigger, something to make a statement. There was a war brewing, between the Templars and the mages – Knight-Commander Meredith had made the city of Kirkwall a Templar-run hell hole, and it was up to mages like him and Hawke to fight back. Hawke did her own part as the Champion, but she wasn’t involved with the underground like he was. He wouldn’t let her be – it wasn’t safe for her.

If a statement was to be made, though, what would it be? Perhaps – a large scale escape? But they’d only get caught – phylacteries made tracking down mages easy. His had been destroyed on the instructions of the Warden Commander when he’d been made a grey warden, but others were not so lucky. It was the only kind of blood magic the chantry were willing to condone – funny how that worked, that it was acceptable when it was in their favour.

No, he realised. The phylacteries of the mages locked in the gallows would have to be destroyed. The mage underground could do it – all that they’d need to do was get the key off the Templar who guarded the gallows at night, sneak in, get past the enchanted doors, and smash the little glass vials of blood.

He put his manifestos to one side and instead wrote a letter to pass on to the underground messenger – there would be a meeting as soon as possible to make plans. He was giddy with excitement at the possibilities ahead of him.

 

* * *

 

 

Anders was by far the oldest member of the mage underground. Most of them were teens or in their early twenties, yet to be jaded by their lives in the circle and eager for the taste of freedom.

He noticed that a few of them were talking among themselves when he got there, and not using the code names that they’d established for safety. Tranquil mages were obedient to their Templar masters, and if one of them got caught they could easily tell on the other members of the underground if they knew each other’s real names. Of course, there were mages who already knew each other from inside the circle, but it was best to minimise risk where possible.

Before starting on the plan for the phylactery destruction, he reminded them of this, and earned himself a few eye rolls from the younger mages, and an “alright, Feathers,” from one. They didn’t take this as seriously as he did – which was understandable, he supposed. Escape was a dream for them, and the rebellion of passing on letters under the Templars’ noses was a quick thrill, but he who’d had multiple escape attempts and spent a year in solitary confinement for his efforts knew just how high the stakes were.

He’d been living as an apostate for years now – even escaped from the grey wardens, but he still flinched at every sudden noise and movement in case it was a Templar come to take him away. He didn’t have the protection of the Warden Commander anymore, officially. She’d been sweet on him, as he had been on her, so if it were up to her she’d probably request his freedom, but there was no reason for the wardens to even know about his capture if it happened, let alone get involved.

“I’ve gathered you all here today to talk about the next big move on the part of the mage underground. For years we’ve been smuggling mages out, one by one, little by little, like grain through a sieve.

“Until now, this has been enough, but a war is brewing. The Templars want to crack down on all mages, and are no longer sparing those who have passed their Harrowings from being made tranquil. We are _all_ at risk from the Templar threat, make no mistake.”

He remembered Karl, and swallowed hard before continuing.

“This is why I suggest that we orchestrate a mass breakout.”

There was an outcry at this, and he waited for the noise to settle down before he carried on.

“To do this, we will have to destroy the phylacteries kept in the gallows, and to do _that_ we will need to get the key off the Templar who guards the passageway at night.”

“I can do it,” pitched up a young man from near the back of the room. He made Anders nervous – he was very old to not have gone through his Harrowing yet, and he was sure that he was going to be made tranquil. Anders never told the young mage as such, but he was fairly sure that he knew. Most of his friends had begun giving him a wide berth, undergoing the necessary emotional distancing so it wouldn’t be too difficult when he stopped caring for them.

“Excellent.” Anders didn’t stop to question how – he was on a high after his speech, and he was pleased with the fact that it had been so well received and that he even had volunteers. This was the biggest thing he would ever do, and he knew that it would be a success. He was going to be instrumental in the eventual freedom of mages, and he had never felt as important as he did in that moment.

 

* * *

 

 

Getting into the gallows was easy – Anders cast a sleeping spell over the guard, they already had the keys they needed, and almost taken aback with their success, they turned the last corner.

A Templar ambush awaited.

Templars in front, Templars behind – they were trapped. Magic in the air was immediately dispelled, and Anders felt his connection to the veil fade. They were trapped, helpless and at the mercy of the Templars.

The Templars didn’t seem to want to fight, though. No, they wanted to taunt the mages first, before killing them, or worse, returning them to their circle.

“Do you want to know how we found you?” the Templar closest to them asked. He had finely chiselled features, but the expression on his face made him the ugliest man Anders had ever seen.

“Your _blood mage_ ,” he sneered the words, “didn’t realise that when the spell was un-cast the guard you manipulated into giving you the keys would remember what you’d forced him to do. You’ve walked into a trap, mages, and revealed yourselves as members of the mage underground, all of you. You realise we now have what we need to unravel your little ‘collective’ entirely? The Knight-Commander will be very-”

He was abruptly cut off, and he staggered backwards, staring down at the knife sticking out of his chest. A gurgle of blood came from his mouth, and he fell to the floor. One of the mages had come equipped with throwing knives, and had taken the opportunity of the Templar’s gloating to strike.

Anders felt his connection to the fade return, and immediately cast a fireball towards the Templars in front of them. Some of the Templars had reacted instinctively, angling their shields down in front of them to deflect the flames, but not all of them, and Anders was satisfied to see a good few go down screaming.

The remaining Templars’ swords made quick work of the mages standing directly in front of them, however, and in seeing his companions fall Justice erupted.

Anders wouldn’t remember any of it, but Justice sent out a mind blast, knocking everybody off their feet. The blood mage, he thought. The blood mage had given them away. _No_. The Templars. He had to understand the real injustice here – the oppressors were to blame, not the desperate actions of the oppressed. His time in Anders’s mind had taught him that justice was a more complex concept in the mortal world than it was in the Fade.

As it was, he did the last thing he was confident he knew how to do: protect Anders.

He rushed back through the convoluted corridors – a left, a right, and another right – and out past the outside guard, who was thankfully still under the effects of Anders’s sleeping spell. The Hawke estate was far, but for once Hightown was empty of bandits, and he made it through without event.

Away from the Templar threat, Justice receded into the background, and Anders found himself on his hands and knees in the front hall of the Hawke Estate, with no recollection of how he got there or of what had happened to his fellow members of the underground.

Shaken, he went upstairs and crawled into bed with Hawke, who thankfully remained asleep. There he lay, awake the entire night.

 

* * *

 

 

“A message for you, Ser Anders,” Bodahn said.

“Just Anders is fine, really. Thank-you,” Anders said, taking the letter.

It was from the messenger of the mage underground.

“Feathers,” it began.

“I am writing to inform you as to what happened the night that the mage underground fell.

“When the Templars ambushed, they killed most of the underground and took few hostages. Those who survived were made tranquil, and in that state obediently gave the names of the other members of the underground. They can’t be blamed – a tranquil can’t say ‘no’.

“The underground members who had not been present that night were devastated by the loss of so many people and resources, and were easily tracked down and killed themselves, particularly those who had already been named.

“You and I are the only remaining members of the underground, and I no longer wish to be part of such a venture.

“I speak honestly to you: the plan was grandiose. As the orchestrator of the plan, I hold you personally responsible for putting everybody at risk that way. As such, this will be my last communication with you.

“I will no longer endanger the mages remaining in the circle by allowing you to make contact with them.”

The letter was unsigned, as they always were.

One word of all of them stuck out at Anders, before he could even process the rest of the letter. “Grandiose”.

“Grandiose delusions,” the physician had said all those years ago. Grandiose delusions, decreased need for sleep, increased goal-oriented activity… the signs were all there. Anders was sick.

Anders got sick, and when he got sick, people died.

The impact of the rest of the letter suddenly hit him, as if delayed by shock.

Dead. Tranquil. The mage underground gone. _His responsibility_.

Everything that he thought was doing to help had destroyed the mage underground that had been so many years in the making. Innocent lives, so many innocent lives had been lost. Had Justice been a part of it? Had he turned, killed, unable to tell friend from foe?

He was cursed – with magic, with illness, and with the spirit living inside of him. He was the reason mages were feared.

He’d tried to help, and all he did was hurt. It was all he did, and all he ever would do.

He had never hated himself more than he did in that moment.

 


End file.
